Storage Space
by ImpalaLove
Summary: No spoilers, no specific season. Dean POV. Rated for language. Dean's alone. And it's dark. Like really dark. So how did he get here, what's going on, and most importantly, how does he get out?


**Prompt Exchange Challenge extra prompt: Write a fic that takes place entirely in either a closet or an elevator.**

**Yes, I decided to overachieve and do two prompts this month. Shout-out to Unattainable Dreams for the prompt ideas! Rated for language. **

**Dean's POV (yes I know, again.)**

* * *

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

I can't see anything. Literally nothing.

It's pitch black in here, and it's quiet. The kind of quiet that sends shivers down my spine and pricks the hairs at the back of my neck. But still, it's not the worst place I've ever woken up in. It could be way worse.

Because it's dark, but it's not cold. I'd say that's a good sign, all things considered. I mean dark is one thing, but dark _and_ cold? That's never ended well for me. So far it's just past the point of "possibly a bad sign." But yeah, I'm not shivering yet. I'm still alive. No ropes binding my hands or feet or anything. It's just dark. So fucking dark.

I'm lying on my back, twisted at the waist so my legs are curled off to the side, knees bent. That's another good sign. It means I'm not too confined. It means I'm not in a coffin. Again. The only thing that's cause for concern is the familiar sticky feeling of blood caked along the side of my face. A quick test of all my limbs tells me everything else seems to be in working order. So yeah, not my worst situation here. Not by a long shot.

Still, I'm staring up at a big black nothing and I figure it's time I start getting the hell out of wherever "here" is, but suddenly my head is splitting apart, shards of glass flying straight at my brain and spiking down along the back of my neck. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and seeing the same, bottomless black behind my lids, but the initial pain eases slightly. It's one bitch of a headache and my still-pounding brain tells me it's probably a concussion, but that's the least of my worries now. That can be dealt with later.

As soon as I find my way out of here.

I immediately start patting down my pockets, looking for my lighter. It's nowhere to be found which is just typical, but I do still have one of my knives stuffed into my boot, so that's encouraging. On to the next order of business.

I start to feel around tentatively, letting my fingers graze softly along the floor, still lying on my back, trying not to make noise in case I'm not alone, though so far the silence suggests that I am. My hand tenses against the touch of what feels like some kind of cloth, and I pull it towards me hesitantly. The fabric is slightly rough, about the same consistency as one of my plaid shirts. Eventually, with a little more exploration with my fingers, I've concluded that it is, in fact, a shirt. I drop it off to the side, not too concerned with that particular discovery at the moment. The headache has begun to subside for the most part so I'm thinking it's about time to try getting up again.

I pull myself cautiously up from the floor into a sitting position. I'm instantly dizzy again, sparks of swirling light penetrating the darkness that still surrounds me and I huff out a few deep breaths, trying to regain some balance. Eventually the world falls back into blackness, which is only slightly comforting because holy shit it's still so goddamn dark.

"Sam?" I try, my voice coming out rough and choked. I clear my throat and try again, not really expecting an answer. "Sam?"

Nothing.

Okay, on my own then, just like I thought. The panic inches up a few levels, but I try to keep it contained for now. Sam can take care of himself. Maybe he's not even in danger at all. I'm trying to get a picture in my head, to somehow get my bearings and remember where I could possibly be, how everything went down, but the details of this particular hunt are blurred and indistinct, my thoughts skittering away from me before they've fully formed. I give up a second later, finally starting to make it to my feet.

I'm just starting to think that my headache has almost completely abated when suddenly the top of my head slams into something solid, a clattering sound permeating the silence. The sparks are flying in front of my eyes again and I stumble backwards...straight into a wall. I let myself regain my balance there, keeping my head ducked low to avoid smacking it against something else.

A flashlight would be really nice right about now.

More cautious this time, I spread my arms wide, still ducked low as I explore what's in front of me. A few feet in front of the wall at my back, I press into another wall. A few more crouched steps in each direction tell me that I'm not as free of confinement as I'd originally thought. Wherever I am, it's not a big room. Maybe four small paces in each direction. A square prison, basically.

Great. Fucking great.

The good news is, as far as I can tell, this box of a room is made of wood. That's gotta count for something. I reach into my boot and grab my knife, feeling around for a space on the wall to get started. And then I plunge the knife in deep, gouging out a nice deep divot in the wood.

I dig the knife in again and again, slicing and carving out new dents in the wall, searching for light. But after a few minutes, all I find is more darkness. My fingers have slipped a few times against the wood and I feel blood seeping lazily from my hands, making it more and more difficult to keep a good grip. I let out a frustrated groan, slamming the knife straight into the wall so it sticks.

At this point I'm getting a little claustrophobic. The darkness seems to hold its own weight, pressing in from every side and making it hard to breathe. Plus I'm getting tired of staying in my half-crouched position. Actually I'm just really fucking tired of being in this tiny room in general. And the fact that I still have no idea how I got in here is even more frustrating. But the worst part is that I have no idea where my brother is. I have no idea if he's even alive.

That thought gets me moving again, has me yanking the knife from the wall and immediately shoving it back in. In, out, in, out. I'm hacking away like a madman, wondering how long a person needs to be completely submerged in darkness before they go insane.

"Dean?"

Wow, that didn't take too long at all.

I freeze, knife poised next to my ear, half-convinced I've just imagined the whisper of my name. But then it comes again, a faint noise from behind me.

"Sam!" I yell, moving to the wall behind me and pounding against it with my fists. _Thank god thank god thank god. _

"Dean!" His answer is more distinct this time, though still muffled by the space between us.

"I'm here Sammy!" I yell, pounding my fist against the wall a few more times for good measure and then letting my head rest against it.

And suddenly there is light again.

A thin beam that slices it's way directly down the middle of the wall that Sam's voice has come from. I blink against it, more than grateful for its presence but blinded by it just the same.

"Dean?" Sam's muffled voice carries more easily now. "I'm gonna get you out, okay? Just back away from the door and I'll get you out."

"Okay," I respond, backing into the wall behind me. A few seconds later I press myself further against it, startled by the slam of something against the black space in front of me. It comes again and again, and with each loud smack, more and more light streams in. A few more well-placed strikes with what I've concluded must be an axe and the majority of the wall falls away, revealing a very distraught looking younger brother. His eyes widen when he sees me and suddenly he's dropped the axe, kicking through the remaining splinters of wood and rushing towards me.

I take a few steps forward to meet him, not expecting to be swept up in a hug. When it comes, I return it instinctually, slightly disturbed by the intensity of the embrace. Sam seems somewhat frantic, his muscles trembling beneath my hands.

"You okay, Sammy?" I ask when he finally pulls away, my eyes sweeping over him, searching for injuries. He seems relatively unscathed with the exception of a few small cuts above his eye and down along his cheek, though he's favoring his right leg slightly.

"Jesus Dean," he breathes, no doubt eyeing the blood I had felt on my face earlier. "Thought you were...man I thought you were a goner. I mean it's been hours and you were just...you were just gone. I had no idea where the hell that thing put you and I finally..."

"Hold on, Sam," I interrupt, running a hand across my forehead. "I don't really remember much. Just refresh me on the details a little. What were we hunting again? And did you kill it?"

Sam nods, lips tightening with concern at the realization that I have no recollection of the past few...hours? Sam said I'd been missing for hours...

"Shapeshifter. It's dead," he replies blandly. But there's something there, something in his expression that tells me I've missed something.

"Sam?" I ask, eyebrows raised. It's all I have to say.

He stares back at me, wincing when he accidentally shuffles his weight to his left leg. "It took me a few...I mean I wasn't sure. It uh...it had your face so I just...it was...hard. You know? I just couldn't...it was convincing," he finished, eyes now cast towards the floor.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, shaking my head. "Sorry Sammy, I should've been there. I don't remember..."

"S'okay," Sam nods, finally meeting my eyes again. He frowns, eyebrows pulling together. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? Your face is kind of a horror show right now."

"Don't be such a drama queen," I laugh, clapping a hand on his shoulder and shoving him towards the entrance of my tiny prison. My laugh quickly evaporates as I step over the shards of splintered wood and glance around.

"Uh, Sam?" I ask.

"Yeah?" he responds.

"Was I locked inside a fucking _closet_ for the last however many hours?"

Sam huffs out an exhausted laugh. "Yeah Dean. Closet of the latest victim the shapeshifter killed. It brought you here after it...you know...became you. Anyway, guess you're lucky it was a big closet."

I shake my head again, scanning the inside of my "prison." It really is just an enormous closet, completely cleared out with the exception of a few hangers (which explains the clattering noise I'd heard earlier) and the one shirt I'd found on the ground.

"I was working on adding more storage space," I say, motioning to the huge dents and gouge marks I'd managed to carve out in the wood with my knife.

Sam laughs again, the sound reverberating around the room. He rolls his eyes and gives me a long stare.

"Never fucking do that again."

"You got it Sammy."

* * *

**As always, thank you so much for reading! Have a great day. **


End file.
